


Coffee and Marmalade Toast

by bluepeony



Series: In Between Days (1979-1987) [1]
Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Moving In Together, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 08:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10873335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepeony/pseuds/bluepeony
Summary: Jonathan moved into Gethin's flat two months ago. They're still getting used to it.





	Coffee and Marmalade Toast

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in the longest time, but I watched Pride again recently and remembered how much I love it, and this pairing. They're gorgeous. It's a shame there isn't more fic for them, or for the film generally. But anyway, this is just a very short, fluffy thing, set before the events of the film, but after Jonathan's diagnosis. I figured Jonathan moving in with Gethin would be very chaotic and ferociously untidy, but I ended up just talking about breakfast in bed.
> 
> I do not own these characters, and the men written into this story are certainly not intended as depictions of their real life counterparts.

**1982**

Gethin likes mornings. Even mornings like this, when he’s cleaning up the shop in the wake of one of its more animated meetings. Last night was the fortnightly _Lesbians Discuss Djuna Barnes_ , which left more of a mess than one might consider such a reading group capable of, and now Gethin is padding about in his socks and dressing gown, stacking used plastic cups and sweeping broken bits of Garibaldi biscuit into the bin. He tidies away copies of _Ladies Almanack_ , pausing now and then to read the odd paragraph, bewildered slightly.

He’s been up a while, earlier than he needs to be. This is partly because it’s the middle of July and too hot for bed, and partly because he woke with approximately a foot of mattress space available on his side, so that before he was fully aware of his surroundings he fell half out of bed and had to grab the night stand to save himself. Next to him, Jonathan slept soundly, sprawled and lightly snoring.

But it’s fine because the world is at its best, Gethin thinks, before it’s properly woken up, all quiet and golden light. He eats breakfast, jam toast in front of the shop window, watching next door’s cat slink disinterestedly up and down the quiet street.

It should be a good day. He feels that it will be. He’s got an order coming later and he always likes that, unboxing and unwrapping and shelving new books, deciding where best they’d be placed. He’s getting several beautiful new Forster editions he couldn’t resist, he knows they’ll sell, and a few fairly racy paperbacks that always sell, and that new John Boswell that Jonathan wanted to read, all religion and gays, supposed to be revolutionary though Jonathan won’t read it, Gethin knows, it’ll end up tea-stained and dog-eared on the windowsill. He’ll get bored with it, he got bored with _Brideshead Revisited_ , even.

The order’s scheduled for late morning. He goes upstairs and makes another cup of tea, and then makes Jonathan breakfast. Coffee and marmalade toast, all he’ll have if he has anything at all. When he takes it into the bedroom Jonathan is in exactly the same position Gethin left him in, though he’s awake now.

“Oh good, I hate waking you up,” says Gethin. “I’ve got to get dressed. Didn’t know if you had somewhere to be today anyway, thought I’d better bother you.”

Gethin’s aware that, ordinarily, couples wouldn’t say things like this to each other of a morning. They’d get up at the same time, and go off to work at the same time, but Jonathan’s only been here a couple of months, less than actually, and they’re still getting used to it. Gethin has a shop to open, and most days Jonathan rarely feels as though he has a reason to get up at all.

“Absolutely,” says Jonathan, taking the offered coffee and putting it on the night stand. “I don’t, of course. Perhaps I could help you out in the shop.”

“If you like,” says Gethin. “Though I’ve told you turning all the copies of _A Taste of Honey_ back to front isn’t help –”

“It’s dreadful,” Jonathan cuts in.

“Only you think so.”

“It’s really very _long_.” He bites squarely into his toast, matter settled. “I do wish you’d let _me_ make _you_ breakfast, Geth. I look like a tosser when really I just have a boyfriend who likes to get up at civil dawn.”

“It was too hot to sleep,” says Gethin, then he thinks about it and adds, “and anyway, you had me hanging off the bed again.”

Jonathan looks genuinely guilty. “Did I? I’m sorry. I don’t do it on purpose! We need a bigger bed. You must admit this is a tiny little thing, bless it.”

“It’s only had to accommodate tiny little me for a long time,” says Gethin, and they smile at each other. “It is fuck ugly, though, if nothing else.”

“I know people, love,” says Jonathan, going back to his toast. “I’ll sort us out.”

“Alright, well I… I don’t want a bed off someone you met down the Coleherne or something.”

“Cheek! When do I ever make dodgy deals at the Coleherne?”

“You bought a copper bust of Deborah Kerr in the Coleherne.”

“Hardly dodgy, Geth. Where are you going now?”

“I’m getting dressed,” says Gethin, making to slide off the bed. Jonathan grabs his ankle before he can stand up.

“Stay a bit.”

“I’ve got stuff to do. You get up as well.”

“I thought the joy of owning your own business was deciding when to open shop.”

“Needs must, Jonathan. You want a new bed, don’t you?”

“I'd prefer if you’d stay five more minutes on this miniscule one with me.”

“I thought the joy of living together was not needing to steal five minute snogs anymore,” says Gethin, but he collapses back on to the bed anyway. Jonathan winds an arm around him, and Gethin tucks himself into his side. It’s hot still, but comfy, comforting. In the back of his mind he knows it’s a dangerous move. It’s coming up to nine. It’s coming up to nine, but he’s comfortable, even though his dressing gown is all twisted under his side…

“No, I’ve got to get up. Come on, let’s get up. Let’s be valuable members of society,” says Gethin, which makes Jonathan bark out a laugh.

He heaves himself off the bed and crosses to the wardrobe, also tiny, surrounded by boxes of still unpacked clothes. Gethin can feel Jonathan watching him from the bed. Of course, Jonathan used to stay over all the time before he moved in, but witnessing each other’s daily rituals is still slightly alien. When they first started sleeping together – and that was before they were ‘seeing’ each other – Gethin would slip out of bed long before Jonathan woke up and brush his teeth and comb his hair and dress quietly, in an attempt to give the illusion that he always fell out of bed positively sparkling. He doesn’t bother anymore. He knows Jonathan has no objections to his ugly dressing gown or preposterous bedhead, indeed to anything that takes the gleam off the person Gethin presented to Jonathan when they first met.

It goes both ways. In the past two months, Gethin has learned that Jonathan is stupendously untidy, takes an inordinately long time grooming himself, eats at any hour that isn’t a conventional hour for eating, will rinse but rarely wash pots (“What’s the _point_ , it’s only had _tea_ in it”), sins by dog-earing books instead of using a marker, and is seemingly allergic to empty surfaces: everything must be filled.

Gethin has never been happier. Seeing their clothes drying together on the maiden makes his heart sing.

“I'll see you downstairs, then?” he says, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “I've got trashy paperbacks arriving soon, if it's any incentive.”

“I'll be down in ten - no, _five_ ,” Jonathan promises, tidying the pillows, putting the duvet back in place, to show that he means it.

It's good to hear him say it. He isn't like this every morning, but then, Gethin had already guessed it was going to be a good one.


End file.
